There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. He was almost paralyzed with nervousness and desire. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. “Well, hello there.
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